Jez and Morgy: Days to Remember
by panini999
Summary: A tribute for one of the best couples in Night World. Sortof like a memoir of their lives 2gether, from their first fight to their first kill. And, of course, wen Morgy 1st tried ice cream :D
1. First Sight

_**Disclaimer: **__**No ownership whatsoever… **_

_**So… here's something I did on impulse. Different from what I usually do, but I hope you all like it anyway :}}}**_

**First Sight**

Jez Redfern laughed as she flew, her face hitting the wind in a carefree caress.

"Higher, Uncle Bracken, higher!" she giggled for the umpteenth time. Jez could hear her uncle sigh and chuckle with her from behind.

"Jez, if you go any higher, you'll fall off."

"—but Uncle Bracken!"

He sighed again. "Okay, princess." And then she flew higher.

Jez could believe that she was a princess, like Uncle Bracken said. She had pretty hair and eyes, so maybe she _was_ one. Maybe that was why Uncle Bracken told her how special she was all the time.

The red hair that always got in her eyes completely covered her face as—what did Uncle Bracken call it?—the swi… the swing sent her upwards. Her pink shirt and overalls swiveled and wrinkled as she tried to move her legs in sync with it. Every time she went up, she imagined herself touching the sun, the bright gold ball that followed Jez wherever she went. She never wanted this to stop.

But, after three more pushes, Jez felt Uncle Bracken's hand leave her back.

"Uncle Bracken?" Her voice came out pitchy, swinging back and forth, back and forth.

"It's getting dark, Jezebel, we have to head on home."

Jez pouted, swinging her legs to try to make the swing go by herself. "No."

"Jezebel…"

"Don't call me that." She pouted again.

"It's your name. And we have to go."

"But the sun's still out!" she pointed hysterically to the golden circle in front of her, frowning as her sandaled feet touched the ground.

"The park will be here tomorrow, princess, we'll come back."

Jez's frown became so deep when Uncle Bracken took her off the swing; she thought her six-year old face would stay like that forever.

"Fine." She amended.

Uncle Bracken held the swing as Jez got off it, already missing the feel of rushing air. She was looking around the park, with its used and rusty play-things. From the browned sandbox to the rickety slide and bridge set to the woody monkey bars and the bulky tunnel big enough to fit a body in. There was dried grass everywhere else, with the occasional trash cans and lone dirt path with slippery rocks. Only one tree was present here, a big one, the only thing besides Jez and her Uncle that actually looked alive. It had branches and caterpillars and leaves. She'd climb that tree someday, then she'd be able to see Uncle Bracken's house from there. And Jez was sure she'd be able to touch the sun on something that high.

To anyone else it would have looked like an abandoned, beat-up piece of land.

Jez loved it all.

But… something… felt wrong right now…

"Hey, Uncle Bracken." They were walking on the dirt path with pebbles. Uncle Bracken was holding her hand in case she slipped.

"Yes, Jez?"

"Something's wrong." She said in that cute voice of hers. You couldn't be five without a cute voice. "Can't you feel it?"

She looked up at her Uncle, at the warm and kind face that was her family. Her only family. Jez's parents weren't with them anymore; Uncle Bracken had told her that when she turned five because he said she was a big girl. And Jez was. She didn't cry one bit.

He was about to tell her something, the silver-blue eyes that reminded Jez of her own had been ready to reply, but then something dropped expertly next to them from a branch of the tree she loved so much.

Jez looked on wonderingly as the thing straightened.

And she kept staring, because she just realized that the thing was a _boy_. He had messy black hair on top of a dirty head. And his clothes were so dirty; Jez didn't know what color his shirt was anymore. The sun had already gone, but Jez could see just fine. She could definitely see his bright eyes.

He had green eyes, deep, deep, _deep_ green eyes. Like the stray cat's eyes she sometimes sees around her neighborhood. Right now he was staring at her, wonderingly, as he got up to his full height. Jez felt smug at the fact that she was taller than him. But his eyes were still glowing at her, as if _she _was the weirdest thing _he's _ever seen.

Not one to remain speechless for more than five minutes, Jez held up her hand to the boy. Uncle Bracken had taught her that that was how they were supposed to greet humans.

"Hello."

He looked at her hand, then at her. Then he raced up, faster than any human Jez has ever seen, and bit her thumb.

"OW!" she yelled. Jez felt a sharp pinprick followed by a weird release. Next thing she knew, the boy had stepped back, grinning, while Jez fell back on her butt. Her thumb was bleeding.

"Hi." He said in a sing-song voice. He would've been cute, flashing a perfect-toothed grin at her, but Jez wasn't concerned about his cuteness at all. She was concerned about getting even.

Reaching behind her, scowling and never breaking eye contact with the boy, she grabbed something lean and rough.

_Perfect._

The boy blinked as Jez got to her little legs as fast as she could. She grinned and lunged, swinging her new stick like a mad person. Jez hit him on the head with it.

It was the boy's turn to fall on his butt.

He didn't stay down long, though. He got up as quick as Jez did and tackled her. Or tried to.

She dodged his hands easily, again aiming the stick at his head. He fell down mid-jump and she dropped down on him.

Jez then somehow managed to wrap her little hands around the boy's neck in a chokehold as he struggled.

"Say sorry!" she yelled, releasing one of her hands and pounding his lanky hair with her own fist. "Say it!"

He didn't say anything. From the look he gave her, it seemed like he'd rather get hit with her stick again.

_Fine then. _Jez grabbed hold of her woody weapon and made as if to stab him with it.

She saw the green eyes widen, and then narrow into slits.

"Say it."

He gave her a look as chilly as the wind around them.

Jez had enough.

"Uncle Bracken!" she called, pointing at the boy under her. "He won't say sorry!"

"She hit me with a stick." The boy argued. Jez was beginning to hate him.

"Jez," Uncle Bracken was holding back laughter, but the fire-haired girl saw nothing funny about the boy not saying sorry. "I think you made a friend."

Jez blinked. And then she looked at the boy, whose teeth weren't normal teeth after all. This boy had fangs.

Oh.

Still on him, with her fist still resting on his black hair, Jez asked, "Wanna be friends?"

"Whatever."

She then got off him, because Jez knew that friends didn't kill friends, even if they hated each other.

She stuck her hand out again as she straightened her pink shirt and combed down her unbelievably tangled hair. "I'm Jez Redfern."

He looked at her with those gem-like eyes of his. Then he grasped her hand in an almost gentle way while he smirked. "Morgead Blackthorn."

_**Author's Note:**__** So how was it? **_

**I don't mind criticism, I actually welcome it, so don't be afraid to tell me that it sucks. To be honest, I didn't think it was all that good myself :{**

**Of course, I don't mind any REVIEW at all… So… y don't u do me a favor and click that green button right down there =}… pls??????**

**Oh… one more thing, I'm still working on my next chappie for Moonlit Mist, :] don't worry. It's almost done, already up to 3,680 words, just need 3,320 more for 7,000 in all. =} It'll take me all of four days… five if I get upset or am busy and two-three if I get sudden bursts of creativity. :DDDD If you want me to make it longer (or shorter) u could just REVIEW/tell me on this or MM. Yup… **

**Plus I'm working on a Dark Visions fanfic. It's a rly great book and I'm sort of sad that it doesn't hav many stories… maybe u can make one? *-* Rly guyz, its an awesometastic book and deserves to be loved just as much as this series. (it's tie wit NW 4 my fave LJ book) =)))))**

**So… cya'll l8er :}**

**REVIEW!!!! AND TELL ME IF U WANT ME TO CONTINUE THIS STORY OR NOT!!! **

**(P.S. so sry for the long **_**A/N… **_**got carried away a bit…)**


	2. Halloween

_**Disclaimer: **__**No ownership whatsoever… **_

**I am sooooo figging sorry!!!!!!! This is way overdue, I kno. I actually started this the day I posted my last chap for MoonlitMist, it's just that I've been busy (I kno that I overuse that excuse, but it's true ={) nd whenever I **_**do **_**get time for computer stuff, or log on to Microsoft word, I usually work on MM, or my upcoming **_**Dark Visions **_**story… 2 actually. One of my friends is making me do a tribute to two of the characters. :}**

**So this disclaimer right here is the only new thing I've typed for this. Honestly… I feel so ashamed 8((( **

**Halloween Special **

"It's not poisoned, Morgead."

A pair of emerald-green eyes stared at Jezebel dubiously. "How do you know?"

"'Cause I've been eating lots of them," to prove her point, Jez opened the wrapper and popped a chocolate bon-bon in her mouth. She opened her lips while she chewed. "See? I'm not dead."

Morgead pretended to look disappointed. "Too bad."

Jez threw a lollipop at him.

They were together, again, at a desolate part of San Francisco, around the corner of the neighborhood park, in an alley they had recently marked as their hideout. It was stinky and dirty, with lots of garbage cans and litter and graffiti all over the place.

But it was _theirs_. Morgead and Jez loved that fact.

Today, Jez had been given some candy by Uncle Bracken before she made her way here. It was tasty, and she wanted to share it with Morgead right away, wondering what he'd think of it.

Jez eyed Morgead eyeing the tootsie roll in his fingers.

"You gonna eat it or what?"

He gave his signature glare. "I'm thinking about it."

"What's there to think about?" she demanded. "It's candy, Morgead, you just _eat it._"

"Why can't we just go attack some teenager like last year?" He licked his lips. "I bet this doesn't taste nearly as good as _that _did."

Blood. Of course Morgead was right, nothing could taste better to them than blood. It was just in their nature. Even sweet, rich chocolate wouldn't be able to tempt Jez as much as the oxygenated liquid did.

But she didn't want to admit it to _Morgead._

Instead, she grabbed a king-sized Hershey's bar from her paper bag. Morgead watched with suspicious intent as she unwrapped its bindings.

Once the bar was fully bare, Jez held it up. "Think Morgead, you can either eat that little tootsie roll, or I can shove this down your throat."

Morgead kept staring.

"Oh come on, idiot, we don't have all night."

"Why not?"

"We're going trick-or-treating this year."

He looked at her oddly then, like she just suggested they go hang out with some humans. "What are you talking about? We're not trick-or-treating."

"But why?" Jez whined.

"Because," Morgead always managed to up his vampire factor when he was mad, it was like one of his many so called gifts. "It's just a stupid human holiday where they make fun of us." He played with the tootsie roll, throwing it up between his hands. "It's dumb."

"No it's not. You get free stuff."

Morgead looked at her. "We always get free stuff."

"_Without _getting caught."

He looked at her again, this time his fangs were glowing with his eyes.

"We _never_ get caught."

Jez grumbled, "You're such a kill-joy, Morgead."

When he didn't reply, Jez ranted on. "Why can't we go just this once?"

"Because I said so."

"You're only ten Morgead, you're not the boss of me."

"But _you're_ nine. So I am the boss of you."

Jez huffed out something that would have gotten her in trouble with Uncle Bracken.

Morgead, looking very haughty, decided to add more fuel to the fire.

"And besides, I don't even like candy."

Jez exploded.

"Well we'll have to change that, won't we?"

She gripped the Hershey bar in her hand, almost snapping it in half, and lunged at Morgead.

He was expecting a tackle, so he already had one knee up to dodge, but Jez didn't bother. She went in for the kill. She got the chocolate in his mouth.

Just as planned.

She saw his eyes widen to the max, literally bulging out of their sockets. For the first few seconds of shock, he stayed still, choking on it, getting ready to spit it out.

And then his eyes gleamed brighter than usual and Jez was ecstatic to see that he was swallowing.

"So?"

He looked at her. Jez frowned slightly. Morgead's expression was one of malice, meant to scare her. He must have hated the chocolate.

And then he spoke.

"Give me more or I'll kill you."

_**Author's Note:**_** REVIEW!!!! PLZ. So how was your guys' Halloween? Great? Because I kno mine was. :+) I just got home from my awesome Halloween party at skool. I don't think im goin trick-or-treatin this yr tho. But not cuz im too old, pshhh, I'll never b 2 old 4 free candy XD it's cuz my mom's flyin in so im gonna stay home for her sake. **

**I don't think most of you care but I went as a goth, like I did last year =} didn't rly feel like looking for a new costume… **

**REVIEW IF U WANT MORE!!! If not, then I'll stop…. No wait. That's a lie. I'll still keep this up, even if everybody hates it. Altho I may update less frequently… (not blackmail, truth) :) **

_**XOXO- panini**_


	3. First Suggestion

**_Disclaimer: No ownership. _**

**Hahahaha. You didn't think i was going to update this did you? Joke's on you cuz i did!!! (obviously) And there's 2 more chaps 4 this on the way (not screwin with ya here, rly) one of which will be christmas-themed!!!**

**Oh, and i reffered to Halloween here only because i had no creativity whatsoever to make up an event. And besides, i wanted to picture the two of them tee-peeing a house. :] **

**So this one was completely made on a whim. Meh bad if not that good, this one was only for the sake of getting back on track for this fic. =/**

**First Suggestion**

It was 3:00 in the afternoon, maybe 4:00. The setting sun cast orange tinged shadows across the sky-high Redwood trees creating a fanciful image of a magical, if not enchanting, moment. At least that's what Jez would have thought if she wasn't so busy trying to find a trail. Morgead came through here just a few minutes ago; she knew that, but nothing else. Not even why he came here in the first place.

The soft moss on the forest floor dulled Jez's footsteps so not even sharp-eared Morgead would hear her coming. Perfect, he'll pay for leaving her out.

A branch cracked nearby.

Jezebel tensed.

"What are _you _doing here?" Morgead's body entered Jez's line of vision, emerald eyes glowering annoyingly through the black hair he never bothered to brush.

"What about you?" Jez countered.

He sneered, his thirteen year old face scrunching up. "I asked you first, Jezebel."

He was wearing the same thing he wore the day before, a red and white striped shirt with his dusty and ripped shorts. Not that it mattered. Morgead almost never changed his clothes, not since his Mom had left him.

"I'm here because Uncle Bracken asked me to get you." She grinned "We're going trick-or-treating this year."

"For Halloween?" he asked, "Why?"

"Well, why not?"

"It's just a stupid holiday," Morgead hopped over another tree root and made his way to her, black hair bouncing and falling into his eyes. "and it's pathetic. Humans couldn't be scary if they tried."

Jez sighed. "You're such a kill-joy Morgead. Come on, just one house, and if you want," she waggled her eyebrows deviously; "we can tee-pee it after."

He gave her a sadistic look as he sat down on a fallen log, back facing her. "Not in the mood, Jezebel."

She gave him her own sadistic look. It didn't matter that he couldn't see it, she just really hated him. "I told you to not call me that, _Morgy_."

When he didn't retort, Jez almost got worried. But she didn't, knowing that the egotistical slump in front of her would either get over it faster than she could blink, or tease her relentlessly for worrying about him.

Finally, when he _still_ didn't retort and only continued to ignore her, Jez managed to swallow just a little of her pride.

"All right, Morgead, what's up?"

"What do you care?"

"Oh, gosh, you're right." Jez sniped, "I mean, we've only been friends for six years. Why _should _I care?"

"If I tell you what's wrong, will you shut up?"

"Don't count on it."

Morgead gave her his signature glare, then he took a short, furious breath and mumbled something way too fast and incomprehensible, that if Jez were human **(ha ha, foreshadowing)**, she'd have had no hope in hearing it.

But she did hear it.

And she bit her lip.

"You mean…?"

"Yeah," Morgead said pathetically. It was the first time Jez had ever seen him this humiliated. She couldn't decide on whether to help him out or kick him down.

"So… did she say hi?"

"Shut up Jez."

"It was just a question."Jez protested. By this point, she was sitting next to him on the mossy log, not caring if her newly laundered jeans got ruined. "So _did_ your mom say hi?"

Morgead visibly winced at the word 'mom'. "She didn't know me at all."

Jez couldn't imagine what it would be like if Uncle Bracken didn't recognize her. But then again, Morgead's mom didn't take care of him. At all. For all they knew, his mom might not even know he was alive.

She ran a hand through her hair, frowning only slightly whenever her fingers got caught in tangles. Which was a lot, actually.

"Where'd you see her?"

"At a club last night. She was drinking."

To anyone else, drinking would mean alcohol, but to vampires…

The word had a double-meaning that made all too perfect sense.

"Well what did you do Morgead. Ask questions, or did you just attack her?"

It was meant to be rhetoric. To snap Morgead back to the haughty, arrogant vampire Jez loved to hate. But that didn't happen. Instead, Morgead put on a mask of—what? Self pity? Self hatred? It was hard to tell.

"Nothing." He looked away. "I did absolutely nothing."

Well, well. Self pity _and _self hatred. Two for two.

That's when Jez made her mistake.

She started to care for Morgead.

No. Not _care _care, but care as in friendship care. It was Morgead, for God's sakes, they were best friends, and absolutely, _absolutely_, nothing more.

Jez, reluctant as they had never made outright physical contact besides one of their fights, placed a hand on his shoulder and patted it awkwardly.

"Are you… trying to make me feel better?"

Her hand froze. "Want me to stop?"

Morgead looked away again, but this time for a different reason. His face was pink. "Doesn't matter."

Her hand had stopped patting; both of them were content with it just resting there on his shoulder. It felt less awkward.

She wanted to ask more questions. About how his mom looked like. Jez's mom was purely imaginary; due to the fact Uncle Bracken didn't have any pictures of her or her father, so her features were changeable anytime Jez took the trouble to think about her.

But she couldn't, not now at least. She'll ask when Morgead goes back to his old self.

So they sat there, watching the last remnants of the sunset together. It was nice, actually. They were quiet. _Morgead_ was quiet.

Too quiet. Out of nowhere, just to fill the silence, Jez thought out loud. "We need a family."

Morgead looked at her. His face was red with some emotion and Jez had the sudden feeling that the quiet moment was over. "What are you talking about?"

"We need more people. More vampires. We could start our own family."

Morgead chuckled darkly, but Jez was okay with it. It meant he was getting back to his old self. "Getting bored with me, Jezebel?"

"Maybe, Morgy." She smiled then turned serious. "We should think about it."

"It won't just be you and me anymore."

"But more vampires mean more blood."

He chuckled darkly again. "Blood's it then? No other reason you suddenly had this inspiration?"

Jez thought about it. "Nope. Not really. And what's wrong with wanting more blood?" Her gums and teeth ached just thinking of that hot, sweet liquid. Giving her oxygen, warming up her throat… "It's in our nature."

Morgead shrugged his shoulder out from under her hand. Jez tried to not get too offended; after all, it didn't _mean _anything. Clearly, his emotional issues were resolved, or at least being concealed by the facade only he could pull off, so there was no need for her sympathy anymore.

He looked at her. She looked at him.

"Fine then. Let's do it."

**_Author's Note: _So? Like it, Love it, or Hate it? You choose. All you gotta do is press that little button right down there. Yea... right there. }=]**

**P.S. Moonlit Mist is getting along just fine. Close to 4,000 words, need 2,000+ more to finish XP. **


	4. Just this Once

**_Disclaimer: _No ownership. And Merry Xmas peeps!!! XD**

**Long time no update, huh guys? Sry for that. I finished this sometime last nite, but had no time to update till now. Had to party with family, y'kno? Mhm *nods head* took a while for them to let me open my laptop. **

**And for Moonlit Mist readers: _sooooooooooo sry!!!! complete writers block... sryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.... _**

**But, u want to read, so--**

* * *

**Just this Once**

Jez hated Morgead.

Now she knew how often she used that particular phrase, but this time she meant it.

She _hated _Morgead.

And nothing he will do will make her change her mind. He just went too far this time.

Because today, Decemeber 24th, was her day. _Her day._ And he forgot. That selfish, temperamental, pain in the backside forgot.

He forgot that today was the day Jez turned fifteen.

Usually, like on her other last year or last last year, he'd greet her. Maybe even, if she were lucky, he'd annoy her just a smidge less than usual. That's how it has been. That's how she thought it always would be.

But this year, he didn't do scrap. Not a single "Happy Birthday," and no sign of him being nicer than he could stand either. Even the gang forgot. Val and Thistle didn't hug her or greet her, or offered to throw a big bash. Pierce and Raven said nothing more than was usual.

She went through the day though, as usual. With nothing more than a subtle hint:

"You know what today is?"

"The day before Christmas," Morgead had said, looking at Jez like she was mentally incapacitated, "why?"

Jez had grumbled. "Nothing. Just shut up and help me find Val,"

And after they did find Val (who was off bashing trees in Muir Woods for fun) they went back to the deserted art studio that was their hide-out and Jez had impatiently waited for one of them to acknowledge the date on the lopsided calendar that hung from a paint-peeling wall. It was amazing she held herself in when Thistle cheerily announced "It's Christmas Eve! Who got me presents?"

"I'll give you something." Jez had mouthed—she couldn't mutter it, because they were vampires. They'd have heard anyway—and fingered a fighting stick.

But she didn't act on her impulse (for once) because it was her day. She figured that if no one else was going to acknowledge it, she'd better make it different from others. At least _she'd _remember it.

So now Jez was alone on the rooftop, at night, looking down on the lights of her city. It was cloudy, freezing too, but that kind of stuff didn't affect people like her. Looks like the people of San Francisco would get a rain storm for Christmas.

"Jez." Morgead's shaggy head popped out of the door leading downstairs. He came up behind her. "What are you doing out there?"

"What do you want?"

Morgead picked up on her mood faster than she thought he would, answering her with a snappish: "For you to shut up and come downstairs." He beckoned with his hand to follow him "It's an hour 'till midnight, we're gonna start the hunt."

The hunt. The vampire version kind of a Christmas feast.

"I don't feel like it," she said, but she got up anyway. She might as well get the end of her day over with.

Ruffling her hair, Jez followed Morgead to the corridor and down the stairs, occasionally nudging shoulders and exchanging glances.

When the light streamed in and the first of Thistle's misguided decorating attempts (candy canes hanging from protruding nails, and a futon tree strung with toilet paper) Jez heard Val _whoo_ing for something, and when she stepped into the room, she saw Raven and Thistle (as always) side by side, the petite blond grinning and the tall brunette smiling with her eyes. Pierce was sitting on a recliner.

"What?" she asked immediately alarmed when they all kept staring, "What did you guys do?"

"Us?" Pierce asked; Jez hadn't expected him to talk. "We did nothing. Morgead did."

Morgead glared. "The only time you speak in hours, and you blame me for something."

The glazed, detached expression never left Pierce's face, even when he shrugged and almost smiled.

Raven came up, along with Thistle. The blonde grabbed Jez's arm. "Let's go."

"What? Thistle—let go of me. Thistle." She glared even when Thistle backed away. "Morgead what did you put them up to?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're so clueless, Jez." He turned away, "Come on. I have to show you something outside."

Thistle giggled.

"Alone."

Thistle stopped giggling.

Raven and Pierce, however, started chuckling.

"God," Jez stated. "You guys are insane."

The last thing she heard from the others was Val's loud guffawing.

When she was sure the others wouldn't be able to hear (which was a flight of stairs down) Jez asked, "Now what, Morgead? I thought we were going hunting."

"We are."

They went down some more stairs and exited the studio. Before long they were outside.

Jez looked around, expecting something. _Anything. _

"So..?" she prompted. "Hurry up. I'm thirsty."

Deliberately ignoring her, Morgeaad swaggered over to a long, sleek bundle on the curb, looking every bit as arrogant as a god. He picked it up.

He stopped for dramamtic effect, cat eyes gleaming at her, but even before he took off the cover sheet, Jez knew what it was. But she still gawked.

He motioned to the machine next to him, picked up the helmet sitting on the seat, and leaned against it. "It's a motorcycle, stupid."

"I know what it is." Jez snapped. She knew exactly what it was. A Harley. A Harley 883 Sportster hugger, the leanest, most classic motorbike yet.

Still, it was Morgead's. She had to hate it.

So this is what he was doing? All that, just so he could show me his new, stupid bike?

For a second, Jez thought he remembered…

He's such a blockhead.

But Morgead was reading her face like a book, and he looked as sneaky as ever. "Well I hope you do," he said, "because it's yours."

He tossed the helmet to her, and if she didn't have the insanely fast reflexes gifted to her kind, Jez would have dropped it.

_Did he just say..?_

Dumbfounded, Jez said the smartest thing in her life. "What—?"

"I said it's yours."

"But… what?"

The smile he wore was open, almost glowing. Morgead was clearly enjoying this. It wasn't often he rendered her speechless.

"Happy Birthday, Jez." He checked his watch. "Hmm…" he looked back at her "and Merry Christmas Jezebel." Smirk.

And just this once, Jez let him call her that.

Just this once.

**_

* * *

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**_Author's Note: _Like it? Love it? Hate it? Whatever!!! REVIEW and tell me wat u think!!!!**


	5. Not Ever

**_Disclaimer:_ ****It took me a whole month to write the last four sentences for this. That's a disclaimer for ya. :P**

**Ookay… let's pretend that Jez is 13 and Morgead is 14. The rest of the gang are having a New Year's party of their own. That's right. Thistle watching **_**Annie**_** and making Raven watch with her, Val complaining about not having a piñata, and Pierce just standing there. They're partying it up. :}**

**And yet… Jez and Morgead took some time for their own. ;)**

* * *

**Not ever**

"You're not supposed to do that."

"I think I know what I'm doing Jez."

"Morgead, stop being such a—"

"Jez—"

"—baby. I know what I'm talking about."

"No you don't."

"Yeah. I kinda do." She reached over him. "Look, all you have to do is put the drill on the keyhole and _drill_." Jez did it as she said it, drilling in and destroying the lock pins in two tries. "Then you use the screwdriver, and..."

The engine revved.

Morgead grumbled something vulgar. "I knew that."

Jez smiled to herself and settled back in shotgun. "Of course you did, Morgead. 'Course you did."

He grimaced. "Why did you want to teach me this anyway?" he complained, "I have a motorcycle. Learning how to hotwire a car is just—"

"Stupid?"

"…do I say that too much?"

"I'm just proud you noticed it."

Jez placed a hand on her forehead. "We needed _something _to do for the Holiday. It was either this, or watching _Annie_. Again." And she smiled. "Besides. Grand theft auto's fun."

He chuckled (with no tinge of anything, he might add) and gestured to the car. "So I'm guessing you've done this before."

"With Uncle Bracken's Volkswagen, yeah."

"You're not old enough to drive yet, Jezebel. That's against the law."

"I don't think human rights and limits apply to us, Morgy."

Morgead smiled and so did she. It was one of those rare days when they didn't have a bone to pick with each other. When they were just best friends.

"So," he said after he looked away from her, a pinkish hue creeping up his face (he hoped she didn't notice), "what now?"

"Well…" Jez drifted off and looked at the scenery, which wasn't much. They were at the dump after all, in a car. A Chevy Camaro. It was a shame, really. It would have been a nice car if it weren't so banged up.

And the inside was cramped too, despite the sun roof. Jez's elbow, if propped, would hit his side. Their knees were touching. And if she twisted, her hair would probably whip his face…

It wasn't so bad.

Morgead thought it was cozy.

"Well," Jez said again, propelling Morgead back to reality, "well…"

"Are you getting anywhere Jez?"

"Shut up," Jez tried on a scowl before she smiled, "what time is it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, uh," he glanced at the arm resting on the steering wheel. "Almost ten. Why?"

Her mouth opened—

Somewhere behind them, something exploded.

It was a deafening _boom,_ followed by little snippets of crackling.

Morgead instinctively went defensive, turning towards the sound and covering Jez with the width of his arms. He even curled his lip.

"Morgead you _idiot_."

He growled. "_Shut it_."

He felt more than saw Jez shake herhead and roll her eyes behind him before she tried to struggle out of his hold.

_Don't move, _he told her, eyes darting, lips not moving, _something's going on and—_

A blast of red lit up the sky.

Morgead watched as drops of static scarlet disintegrated.

Oh God… he _was _stupid.

"_Fireworks_?"

He turned and saw Jez, still in his arms, face alight with something no blast or explosive could compete with. She was glowing.

And she nodded and met her eyes with his. "Fireworks."

She held his gaze. He held hers.

Sparks flew above. Red then blue, and then bright, night-lighting gold.

"Morgead," she leaned a little closer.

"Hm?" Morgead never knew how good her hair smelled… sort of like orchids or strawberries…

Jez leaned in even closer, a blast of green lighting the smile of amusement on her face. "You can let go of me now." She wiggled in his arms.

He didn't want to. Not ever.

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed—a little forcefully, but still a laugh—and released her. For the next two minutes, they were shoulder to shoulder, watching the stars and moon look down on the man-made fireflies on earth. It was beautiful.

See. If he were cheesy, he would have turned to Jez and thought: _But not as much as her _or some gross dialogue like that. Yeah. Right.

But he did turn to her, purposely leaning in just a fraction more than usual. More than most best friends should.

Her hair was almost tickling his face. "Happy New Years Jez."

She smiled then nudged him with her shoulder. Morgead sucked in a quick breath. "Happy New Years buddy."

Morgead let out a quick huff. Jez looked at him with a slightly lopsided eyebrow.

"Morgead?"

Buddy. She said buddy.

_Buddy._

She couldn't like him. Not ever.

Morgead zipped his lip and backed away.

The finale was here. Burst by burst of light crowded the sky, painting everything with a bright atmosphere. Again, Morgead thought: _Beautiful_.

But then. It was over.

Oh well.

Guess he'll just have to live with it.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_**Yes. It was just a short moment. T.T. ****REVIEW?**** Anyone?**


	6. Eight Letters

**Disclaimer: ****I got $30 for Val Day. Weeeeeeeeeeee. **

* * *

**Eight Letters**

Eight letters. He just needed eight letters.

A crossword puzzle for Valentine's Day.

Yippee.

Morgead pondered over it, sprawled face-up on the evergreen ottoman. He held a no. 2 pencil in one hand and the day's paper in the other. He stretched his back, letting his head hang upside down as he thought (he was tall, even at fourteen. His legs were bending on the opposite side).

He licked his lips. What eight letters? The last piece and he had no hints. It was ostracized from the rest of the puzzle, so it could be anything. Morgead pressed the eraser to his cheek, tapping it and biting his tongue.

An eight letter phrase. A saying normally spoken to someone who gave you an endearing compliment/confessed love or adoration.

Finally, he jammed down the tip of the lead. He scribbled out some options.

_No kidding_

_I'm so glad_

_Whatever_

A pounding knock on the door.

"Morgead, hey, wake up! Val forgot his text book again, the teacher was going _craz_y_._ So I had to ditch and—o"

The doorknob turned with the spare key. "Morgead?"

Morgead had gone rigid, hoisting himself back up. Jez had dropped her book bag once she opened the door.

They were both still, Morgead staring—_glaring _at her. "It's not what you think—"

All at once, Jez burst with laughter. She was clutching her sides. "You… have got—to be kidding."

She wiped her eyes, red with laughing tears, and flipped her hair. "This is what you do when we're at school? Read _Marmaduke _and _Blondie_?"

"Stuff it. I'm doing a puzzle."

"Ooh." She was biting her lip to keep from smiling, her neck tilting up with the sudden advantage to torture her foe. "Look at you. Being all _intellectual_."

"I said stuff it."

Jez held up her hands. "Fine. I'm leaving. Just tell me where Val's textbook is."

"Same place it's always been." Morgead settled back on the ottoman, hunching his shoulders and ignoring Jez's muted snickers. "Under the mattress with some pizza slices."

He saw Jez flash a thumbs up. "Right-o."

Morgead let himself get re-absorbed. He ignored the opening door and the heaving and replacing of a mattress cushion. He ignored Jez's cut off squeal and curses when a rat leaked out of one of Val's socks.

One phrase. One damn, eight-lettered phrase…

"All right, Morgead. See you." Jez stepped out the door.

He grunted a "Later," and scratched his head with the eraser.

Dammit.

The door opened in a flash, not even completely closing. "Oh yeah, Happy Valentines."

"Yeah, yeah. You two."

"I hardly call that a greeting, Morgy." She stated in a sweet, puppy-dog hurt tone.

Morgead groaned and said, in the same tone, "Buzz off, Jezebel."

"You're really into that aren't you?"

He ignored her, not bothering. She'll leave sooner or later.

She huffed, mad. "I love you too, Morgead."

That's it.

God.

_I love you. _

Eight letters. Common phrase. Something you say to someone who just confessed their love to you.

He almost did a fist-pump to the air. Then he, proudly, brought the pencil to the paper.

He didn't get the chance to write anything.

Jez had snatched it up.

"Whatchu got there?"

He tried to get it back, but Jez held it out of his reach.

"Do you _have _to be such a brat?"

She responded with a snarl and roll of eyes. She looked at the paper. Morgead knew when she landed on the missing phrase because of the instant flash of thought in her eyes.

"What are the hints?" She asked.

"They're at the side."

"Why would I look if you could tell me?"

He scoffed. "Something you're supposed to say after someone gave you a compliment or confessed love."

She stayed silent.

"You're not going to get it," Morgead taunted. "I've been stuck on that one for the whole morning, I just got it now."

Her eyebrows furrowed.

He chuckled. "See? You can't even think properly—"

Of course, it only took another second for her to get that annoying up-right quirk at the corners of her lips. She grabbed the pencil from his hand and wrote something down.

"There you go you big baby." She rolled it and flipped it in her hand. Then she tossed it back to him. "It wasn't that hard."

He stuck out his tongue.

"And you're the older one." She _tsk_ed,"Like that's believable."

"Don't you have somewhere to go to?" Morgead rested his chin on the roll of paper. "Like school, maybe?"

She _tsk_ed again, and balancing Val's biology work, she walked to the door to pick up her bookbag. "Crap. Bye."

"Happy Valentine's Day!" he shouted on an impulse. Jez giggled at him, waving it off and shutting the door.

When he couldn't hear her footsteps anymore (one minute— Val would get in even more trouble if she took her time), Morgead unrolled the paper.

He looked at the puzzle.

And he laughed.

I love you was eight letters, he thought, and it was perfect to fit the clues.

But so is—according to Jez—bullshit.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_** Ha. This wasn't the mushy gushy Val Day moment I was planning, but one of my friends told me this quote (Thank you Mia!) and just had to make a fic about it. **

**Do you want a mushy Jez/Morgy moment? REVIEW and request one… cuz im not all too good with mushy… :/… it'll be dedicated to you. :) **


	7. Luck o the Redhead

**Disclaimer: **** I don't own your mom… And I hang out with the guys too much… **

**So… I felt bad about not posting anything for St. Patrick's, so I put myself on the job, held my other projects (LOTS of other projects… I can't even remember some stories I already typed…) and got down for a little one-on-one with Jez and Morgy. (And i know it's a week late ok? You don't havta rub it in T.T)**

******Just a shot at a progressing relationship, and l****ittle tidbits of information there for you. Because everyone wants to get a piece of the luck o' the Irish. ;}**

* * *

**Luck of the Redhead**

"Now." Uncle Bracken looked at the two tween vampires with a sort of happy look in his eyes. "Do you two know about St. Patrick's Day?"

"Um… it's a day for a saint?"

"That's right Jez."

"But… why?" Morgead Blackthorn, his black mop of a head still a little too big for his still growing, eight year-old body, asked. "There are lots of saints. Why a whole day, celebrated for a guy named Patrick?"

"He was a special saint." Was Bracken's only formless reply. "He did a lot of miracles. Became Ireland's patron."

Jez pouted to protest. "But I'm not Irish."

"No." Uncle Bracken consented, "But you're a redhead."

She blinked, cocked her head.

"Oh… kay?"

Morgead stayed silent beside her. Sulking. Bracken knew the boy would much rather watch paint peel than hear an old vampire talk about a national holiday he really didn't care about. And he couldn't blame him, because Bracken couldn't really care less either.

He was just doing this for the observation. And for the purpose of bringing the two kids closer together. He saw how they acted around each other. He wasn't stupid.

For their sake, he repeated:

"It's a day for a special saint—an Irish saint, Ireland's very own patron. St. Patrick."

The two didn't squirm. They listened. As intent as they would in a hunt.

"St. Patrick's day is a very well celebrated holiday, going from a purely Catholic day to a feast day to a folkland day to just a celebration of Irish culture. On March 17. That day, people all over the world—from America, to Canada, to Ireland herself—decorate their homes, paint, and wear green."

"Why green?" Jez flipped her messy hair (when was the last time he made her brush it..? A month?) and looked at it. "Why not _red_?"

"Because Jez," she was getting more impatient and stubborn by the day, Bracken thought, she'd be just like her mother in no time, "green is one of the colors of the Irish flag. Ireland's nickname is the "Emerald Isle". Green is the color of spring, the shamrock—"

"What's a shamrock."

It didn't sound like a question. More like a plea from the boy to shut up.

But Bracken answered anyway.

"A shamrock is a three-leafed clover."

"I thought four-leafed ones were the lucky ones."

"They are—but shamrocks are the symbol of the holiday. St. Patrick used a shamrock for each of his sermons…"

He lectured them some more. About shamrocks, about green—about St. Patrick's Day themes in general.

He noticed how they made no move towards each other. Barely talked.

That year, Bracken made note of the way they talked to each other. Friendly, an uncaring attitude towards each other. Nothing more. Like a mutual relationship in the ecosystem. They hung out with each other because they had to. Birds of a feather flock together. Young vampires with no direct parents did too.

The friendship was based purely on survival instincts.

Maybe his hunch about… about _it _was wrong.

* * *

For the next two years, he left them alone. They were just friends (more or less). Friendships dies eventually. For vampires, they die even faster.

But the friendship didn't die. It lasted three more years.

In that third following year, Morgead and Jez were twelve and eleven. Both were acting more open. And Bracken saw better interaction (injury-related or otherwise).

This year, he decided to repeat the session he had last year. Mostly because Jez was whining and moaning about how St. Patrick's Day was—and he quotes—"_SOOOOOOOO BORRRRING!!!!"_

Morgead, with his hair grown out to the tips of his ears and his face almost fully grown out of the baby fat—like last last last year—was sitting silent beside her. But—unlike last last last year—there was the faint hint of a smirk on his lips.

Bracken towed them to the living room they used the last year. The one with the yellow rug and beige couch.

"Now," he said, "what do you want to know about today?"

"When it ends." Jez groaned, already pressing a pillow to her face.

Morgead rolled his eyes.

Jez made noises behind the pillow. Gurgles. Bracken guessed they weren't positive.

"Why do we even celebrate it?"

"Would you rather stay in school?" Bracken challenged.

She gave a groan, muffled by the patched pillow she wore as a face mask. "I'd rather sit on a desk doing nothing than sit in my _house_ doing nothing."

He saw no logic in that. At all.

So…

He lectured them again, and this time, he got into traditions.

"They drank and drank and drank at this time of year—"

"Sounds fun." Morgead's sarcasm seemed to have fully developed, Bracken noted, unpleased with the fact. "What a way to celebrate a holy day."

"Back in the day, it was. They'd bring out a bottle of whiskey, and then, before you knew what hit you, you'd be dancing around in green suspenders and a top hat. Sometimes, they'd bring a priest along to supervise."

"A priest?" Morgead snorted. "Why in heck would they do _that_?"

"Well—"

He threw a hand up. "How stupid were the Irish, anyway?"

Jez threw her hand at _him. _"Shut up! Let 'im finish the story."

Morgead's eyes flashed. "Make me."

"Maybe I will!"

Bracken watched this with a scientist's eyes. Observe. Analyze. Conclude.

In that year, Bracken gave a little—just a tiny bit—consideration into his theory.

* * *

They sat at the same spot, on the same date, in the next year. Jez and Morgead were already listening to her uncle's stories, no questions. With last years' success (they stayed up debating over why Chicago always dyed its rivers green and why, after, actually, Morgead and Jezebel stopped _bickering_), they were on the couch first thing Jez got off from school (Bracken didn't know where the thirteen-year old boy spent his time, but he always managed to find his way over to their house the same time Jez did, which, in actual fact, just led Bracken to lean in on his theory all the more).

"And there are lots of activities for St. Patrick's." Her uncle continued, "There's one with a scavenger hunt for a four-leafed clover—they aren't the symbol, but, they say that if you find one, you'll be able to find a leprechaun. And his pot of gold.

"Now, gold coins were very valuable in Ireland. They foretold good luck to whomever lucky soul managed to find on. Brilliant luck—_tremendous _luck if a leprechaun himself gave it to you."

Jez's eyes flashed with amusement. Clearly, at twelve, she thought she was too old for this. But she proved just how much she loved—or at least valued—her uncle by playing along. "How do we find a leprechaun, Uncle Bracken? I want good luck."

Morgead so very subtly elbowed Jez. "Don't be selfish. Me too."

Bracken laughed.

"Well. It's hard to find a leprechaun. The best way is to find a rainbow and follow it to its end."

Jez pretended to think about it. Morgead immediately shook his head, "Too much work. And my gagging reflex would act up."

"Hm…" Now Bracken was the one pretending to think about it. "There is… one other way. From a couple stories."

Jez and Morgead waited.

"A redhead could be kissed. And if the two lovebirds had luck ahead of them, a leprechaun would appear."

Morgead slapped his forehead. Jez fell back on the pillows.

Silence… with a heavy cloud of awkwardness….

Bracken would never admit it, but he smiled at the situation.

The two gave sideways looks when they were sure the other wasn't looking.

"Uh… no thanks." Morgead finally said. "Such a rip-off. I'd rather kill her for it than _kiss _her_._"

Jez nodded vehemently. "What he said." They were both trying to hide their simultaneous blushing and gagging.

That year was the year Bracken knew for sure they were somehow… connected. Not by _it _though. Maybe.

But he saw the glances Morgead gave her. He saw the way Jez tried (or not try… he didn't know if she _knew_) not to meet them.

He wasn't stupid.

* * *

The next year, Uncle Bracken told the two now-teen vampires more about the holiday. Morgead and Jez had gotten older, more mature. Fourteen and thirteen, respectively. They were both still growing in some ways, and yet already grown in others. In the stage where childhood was missed and loathed at the same time.

Bracken thought he would regale the two with folktale stories this year.

"Now." He began—like always. "St. Patrick's real name was Maewyn, born in Wales, around 16 when he was sold into slavery—"

"Yes Morgead. They had slavery in Ireland." Jez interrupted.

"I wasn't saying anything."

"But you were thinking it."

Bracken cleared his throat. The two teenagers broke their glare-off.

"As I was saying," Jez rolled her eyes and Morgead placed his palm on his propped knee to hold his chin. "He was sold into slavery around 16. Before that time, he was a pagan—"

"That means: person who believes in a lot of gods." This time, it was Morgead who interrupted.

Jez shook her head. "I know what it means."

"Because I just told you."

She hmphed. "Shut up. I'm not an idiot. I know stuff, Morgead."

His eyes sparkled with thoughts and thoughts of comebacks. "Well you better start acting like it, Jezebel."

"I bet my pinkie has a bigger brain than you."

"Fat chance!"

"Oh yeah. And your head's fat too." Jez snickered. "We should pop it. I love the sound of hot air whooshing by."

"Don't you ever shut up?"

"Don't you?"

Black hair tumbled into fiery green eyes as Morgead stood up. "You know what, Jezebel?"

Jez snarled up at Morgead. "Do _you _know what, Morgy?"

"If you don't want to listen, just say so." That was Bracken. As much as he enjoyed their fights (entertainment in real life was very rare for the aging vampire) he really just wanted to get his story over with.

But woe is he. Because Jez and Morgead both looked at him, and at the same second, at the same moment—right down to the same tone in their voices—they said: "So."

Bracken told them: "I'm telling it anyway; Morgead, sit down."

Reluctantly, he did, though not before giving Jez a certain finger behind his back (Morgead must have thought he couldn't see, but Uncles knew _everything_).

"All right. So he was a pagan. But during his six-years in captivity, the young boy became closer to God. When he was finally released, he was convinced that converting the other pagans of Ireland was his calling." Bracken waited, but when no sign of interruption was evident in either of his audience, he spoke on, "That's the general background to Patrick the Irish saint.

"Now leprechauns," he said, "are trickier. They are fairies of Irish folklore, beings of imagination—"

"_We're _beings of imagination."

Jez slapped his shoulder, none too gentle either. "Shut up Morgead."

"—but before the 20th century, a leprechaun was much more than that. It was a spirit. One that had helped the Irish people more than they realize. And even though they were important, the little tykes were still portrayed as being ugly little sprites with red hair for beards and a thirst for blood—"

Morgead barked out his laugh. He kept laughing for seconds to minutes.

"What?" Jez asked, smiling despite herself. "What's so funny?"

He snorted. "Hear that Jezebel?" he said between chortles, "It's you!"

Jez's face froze into her smile.

"I'm going to _kill _you."

"Jez," Bracken tried. But it was too late. Even if he wanted to (which he really didn't) Jez already knocked Morgead against the sofa arm and pinned him there.

"Oh no, a leprechaun-vampire!" Morgead shouted to the skies as Jez grabbed a pillow—almost tore it in half she did—and proceeded to smack him with it. "Oh, God! I see the beard!"

"_Morgead you terd_—_!_"

Bracken Redfern never did get to finish his lecture that year, but somehow, watching the two go at each other like that, he felt like he already finished his purpose. He left the two alone, chuckling his way to the library.

Whether or not they were connected by some supernatural force was irrelevant. The standing point was:

No other pair of friends would be as close as these two already were, binding cord or not. Not by a long-shot.

Bracken closed the door behind him.

From the couch, Morgead was heard trying to get out of a pillowy-death grip.

"Shouldn't you be—" choke "—stuffing your pot of gold somewhere?"

"Oh—" squeeze "—I know _exactly _where to stuff it Morgead."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_** They say the world has only two types of people. The Irish and the ones that wish they were. **

**:} Not Irish… so I guess I wish I was xD**

**Well... Not my best, but posted anyway. I only really liked the last two lines xD Hope you're not too disappointed. **

**Review, and I'll know my two hours wasn't put to waste… … … :)**


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